


Drakine

by orphan_account



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Wings, Angst, Established Relationship, M/M, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 03:27:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17134133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The wings of a person were said to represent the most vital essence of their soul. The wings provided the clearest insight into the heart and minds of men and women, and in some cases, legend has also foretold that it might reveal the destiny of said person. In this world, every person born with these wings were able to use them in service of finding their ideal mate.There are two kinds of winged people, Drakines and Raptors. Raptors are folks that bear the wings of birds. Drakines are the rare folk that bear the wings of dragons. Over the course of known history, Drakines have been associated with being harbingers of death and destruction. Surviving in a society where Drakines are hunted and executed for being omens of suffering and death, takes tenacity and cunning.





	Drakine

> The wings of a person were said to represent the most vital essence of their soul. The wings provided the clearest insight into the heart and minds of men and women, and in some cases, legend has also foretold that it might reveal the destiny of said person. In this world, every person born with these wings were able to use them in service of finding their ideal mate. The most common wings were those of the raptors, the eagles and the hawks and many more, these majestic birds of prey that glide along the elegant landscape of the cerulean skies, their souls as free and as fierce as the birds that they belong to. Or, so did the common minds thought once upon a time. There was also another breed of winged people, that countless legends from different cultures that have foretold of people that bore wings far mightier and different from the rest of their ilk. These ones were extremely rare but on the occasion that they were found, many of them have had a hand in influencing the history and the tide of mankind's future. So great and mighty were their deeds that they were often feared or respected in their own cultures.

These people are called the Drakines. They have leather-like wings that can stretch and reach to a wingspan of almost twenty feet and their owners can fly faster than any other creature in existence. The tips of their wings end in curved claws, a dangerous weapon that can fell their enemies in one fell swoop. Of all that have been encountered, much of their number is comprised of conquerors, pillagers, war criminals, pirates, kings and queens, and the mighty warriors of old. Very few of them have the honor nor the respect for the lives of their fellow man in contrast to their more benevolent counterparts. Drakines are a people burdened with heavy destinies, good or bad. Any family that sires a Drakine child is often said to have a grave and bitter destiny ahead of them. Their association with suffering and death has reached the point where a Drakine child will often be found abandoned on the streets and the wild, left to die alone for fear of what curses it might bring to their families.

* * *

His wings shuddered and twitched like a dying snake as he slowly draws them closer around his body, folding them at half mast. The cold and bitter winds of the north hissed and ripped at his face and wings. Another shudder runs through him as he recalls the past events of this evening. As if in response to the nature of his thoughts, his draconian wings twitched and huddled closer to him, as if it could stubbornly keep out the cold threatening to seep into his conflicted heart. He lowers his chin and swallows thickly, his nose scrunching in disgust as a part of him hisses at his own deplorable weaknesses. His chest shudders as he draws in another weak breath, exhaling a few seconds later only to hear the hoarse rasp of his own lungs trapped between his ears.

 _"I'm immortal!_ "

A harsh exhale escapes his nostrils, followed by the pained grunt that he smothered at the back of his throat. He raises his head and shakes it vigorously, swallowing back the bile threatening to spill from his mouth. A decisive jolt of fire runs through him and he shakes himself, his obsidian wings awakening and stretching to their full wingspan. His wings twitched and he looks down, numbly following the small specks of light running beneath his feet at the ledge of the building. He crouches and lunges off his perch, his pulse galloping as the fierce wind rips past his cheeks.

His wings retract and collapse at his sides, propelling him faster to the ground. With practised ease, he expands his wings at the last minute and a current of air pushes against his wings, pushing him upwards in a powerful surge of force. The muscles along his shoulder blades rippled and flexed with each powerful wingbeat as he keeps his gaze fixed on the skyline of his city. A melancholic ache settles into his chest when his eyes catch on to the sight of a particular apartment complex in that small corner of Brooklyn down below, nearly indistinguishable from the blanket of the midnight colours and city lights. An ambiguous warmth settles into the void in his chest and he feels beckoned to hover nearer that building. At the last second, he gives in and angles his flight downwards, wings folding in to lower his altitude. When he is a hundred feet above the complex, his wings expand again, wingbeats flapping more frequently as he comes to a stop. When his sharp sense of hearing picks up on faint signs of activity inside, a sense of uncertainty washes over him.

No one else in his life knows that he is a Drakine. From the moment that he was born, he has become notorious for being one of the Wingless, people that were often told to have had the misfortune of being born without their ideal mate. He didn't present at birth with the wings of a Raptor, as was expected from him by his family. For many years, he grew up without any sign of presenting at all. He presented when he was eleven years old, alone, cocooned by the privacy of his room. At that age, what he lacked in the sheer power and brute skill of his Raptor counterparts, he compensated for shrewdness and guile. He learned the importance of casting a glamour on his wings and even then, he never fully used them in front of anyone unless there was a dire need. The glamour needed to be renewed every few weeks and he was grateful that he learned to value the importance of having connections to the Downworld. Wealth blinded many and often caused them to overlook many of the important things around them and he was grateful that none of the warlocks he contracted were nosy enough to pry in on his business. Dragon fever, the draconian lust for wealth and power, seemed to permeate every known creature in this world.

He has held this dark secret for too long in his short life. A life dedicated to ruthless survival teaches a man a few things, and of those things that he has learned, it was the truth that Drakines are often savagely marginalized and hunted down for the history and superstition associated with them. Like the reptilian creatures they are linked to in mythology and folk stories, the world is not too fond of his kind and would gladly drive them to extinction if it could. Thus far, none have come close to cracking the mystery of their origins and drawing connections to their genetic history. It seems so far that his kind spawn randomly at different generations, showing no clear pattern that can point to some singular source for their origin. It makes it harder to decimate their bloodline, and he doesn't know if that was a product of their evolution or something else.

But just as much of the ruthless survivor that he likes to think of himself to be, there were also a great many things that his mate has shared with him. Secrets and bits of history, some decades old, most centuries old, that have started unfolding as their time together continues on. The draconian part of his soul growls and never fails to become appeased at the offerings of these invaluable treasures, but another part of him, yearns to return the deed and part with a significant share of his hoard that no mortal has laid eyes upon. He yearns to be parted with this secret, this secret that has haunted him and stalked the peace from his sleep.

He swallows back a well of fear as he softly lands on the balcony, his wingspan folding close to his sides, the fanged digits of his wings brushing the coarse ground below.

Magnus was the first to summon and present his wings, and the memory of it all is still so enticingly fresh in his memory. On the day of the failed wedding, the doors snapped open like the angered roar of a wronged lioness and there he came and swept in to the room, eyes ablaze and his wings outstretched to an impressive wingspan of fifteen feet. Specks of grey, dashes of black and white, stains of chestnut brown. The wings of the osprey. It took an alarming amount of willpower to crush his own instinct of unfurling his draconian wings, right then and there. And it made him afraid at the same time.

But it has to be done. They cannot hide from each other. Not anymore.

The weight on his sides disappeared and sheltered themselves in the core of his being, effectively out of sight of anyone. He grits his teeth and bravely takes a step forward, soft steps echoing through the room. He stops in the middle of the hallway that led to the entrance. A door opens and he cranes his neck in the direction of the approaching footsteps, a pulse of uncertainty running down his spine as they get louder. Eventually, Alec sees him and they both freeze at the same time, both regarding each other with some level of intensity that neither one of them can precisely quantify.

Magnus blinks in rapid succession, as if he was puzzled about something. A moment later, a small smile graces his lips and he saunters forward. "Good evening, Alexander. I must say, this is a pleasant surprise. I never heard you coming in."

 _There will be more pleasant surprises this evening,_ the draconian part of him whispered and hissed in delight.

He grits his teeth and keeps his back straight. The markings running along his shoulder, the ones responsible for keeping his wings out of sight, twitched and itched madly. When he sees the beginnings of a concerned glance rising from the man before him, he interjects. "I think we need to talk." he says softly. "Do you want to do this out on the balcony?"

Magnus smiles. "Alright."

 _They will hate us,_ the draconian aspect of him, hisses madly into his head. _He will hate us. Nothing has changed for us. Why will it start now?_

The night air of New York snarls at his face as soon as he steps out from the relative warmth of the flat, the agitated winds biting at his skin. He exhales sharply as he raises an arm to scratch the back of his neck, turning away from the curious glances of the man beside him. A warm hand along his elbow wrenches him out of the tidal force of his own dark thoughts. He cranes his neck and a part of him flinched away from the concern radiating so strongly from the man before him. Gentle hands soon enroach on his forearm, absently making soothing patterns on his skin.

"You look troubled about something. If this is about what happened earlier today --"

Fuck, he really needed to come clean.

"No. No, it's not," Alec swallowed, shaking his head so viciously that the force of it seemed to be enough to silence the stream of misunderstanding he was about to create. "It's not."

"Then what is it?" Magnus coaxes softly, eyes gleaming with naked concern. "You know you can tell me anything."

_He will hate us._

No, he will not.

Fuck, here it goes.

"I should've told you this weeks ago. But I didn't, because it meant life or death for me. Or so I thought," he begins relaying the script that he has prepared for this, his voice devolving to a monotonous tone as he retreats to the safety of his defense mechanisms.

A dark glint appeared in his eyes. "Are you in trouble, Alexander? Is someone out to harm you?"

"It's not the kind you're thinking about, Magnus. It's more than that," he replies softly.

"Then what is it?" Magnus frowns.

Just do it.

Alec inhales and closes his eyes. He opens them again a moment later. "I lied. I lied about being...Wingless. I lied. I lied to everybody. I have wings. I just...I just never told anybody."

Magnus blinks, his brows furrowed. He tilts his head and narrows his eyes, his fingers resting icily still on his forearm. "Why?"

Alec swallowed and averts his gaze.

"Why would you lie about this?" came the soft question, an undertone of hesitation and confusion.

"Because...because it really is life or death for me," he replies monotonously, a chilling finish to the question.

"But _why_? Why will you hide away an essential part of yourself, Alexander? I'm not angry at you for keeping this from me," Magnus says quietly. "I am humbled that you felt brave enough to share it with me tonight. But, why do...this yourself? Such an essential part of you must never be a source of shame. You never need to be ashamed of it, Alexander."

_Look at him, we haven't even gotten to the meat of the argument yet and we are already creating multiple points of misunderstanding. He thinks we hide because of shame. Why must we be ashamed of who we are? No, we hide because we risk death if we show our scales to the world._

"Maybe you decide that for yourself when you see it," he intones, tearing his eyes away from the man before him.

"Nothing about you is shameful, Alexander," he says softly. "You're concerning me. This is not like you."

Fuck it all.

He grits his teeth as the discomfort in his shoulders spreads across his entire back. The weight of his wings nearly dragged him down as they manifested themselves to the corporeal world, the bitter winds biting at the leather skin of his wings. With a great heave of his breath, he unfurls his wings to their full length and allows them to enclose the space around them in a half circle, wide enough to give them both space and long enough to allow for closer inspection of his own wings. He swallows down a dose of fear when Magnus looks around in astonishment, before turning back to gaze at him with an intense glance that he could never quite decipher. The man furrows his brows and slowly walks towards one of his wings, reaching out to run his fingers along the thin leather skin of his draconian wings. A jolt of electricity slithers down his back and Alec fights down a growl that threatened to break out of his tongue. Magnus traces his fingers over one of the fanged tips of his wing, wide-eyed and looking strangely vulnerable. When he straightens his back and turns to look back at Alec, he can see the naked question lurking in his eyes.

"This...this is why I never told anyone else," he says monotonously. "It's true. I am a...Drakine. I am one of _them_. And if anybody else found out, they would've had my head mounted on a pike."

Magnus flinched, his eyes widening as he swallowed. "You know that I would _never_ do that to you or anyone, Alexander. I would _never_ even entertain the thought."

His obsidian wings twitched as he folded them to rest by his sides. "I didn't know for sure," he replies weakly, eyes averted to the ground. "I could never know. I will never know."

"It doesn't change anything, Alexander," Magnus says gently. "It doesn't. I love you for all that you are. No one chooses who they were born as. Raptor or Drakine, it makes no difference. I still love you."

"I feel like that should be enough. But I don't know if that is," he chuckles bitterly. He twists his lips into a lopsided smile, one that reeks of bitterness and resentment. "Doesn't it bother you? It bothers me, at least."

"Drakines deserve love just as much anyone. Why they were forced to bear the burden of the evil few, I will never know. Evil is a choice, not a state of being. Evil is a choice, not a species," Magnus replies firmly, his hands tightening their grip around his wrist. "Evil is a choice, not a man or a woman or any child. It doesn't have a physical form. It is an act. You are not that. Never that."

All of the fight suddenly leaves him.

Alec exhales and closes his eyes. He swallows, before giving a bitter chuckle. "I have really bad timing."

He opens his eyes again when a pair of hands lands on his cheeks. "I love you for all you are," Magnus whispers, eyes wide and ablaze with a frightening determination in them that takes his breath away. "Nothing will change that."

He inhales deeply and swallows back the lump at his throat. "I'm sorry for not telling you earlier. Can...can we please talk about this tomorrow? I just...I don't think I can, right now, you know, I just --"

"It's alright," he smiles softly. "We can talk more tomorrow. Please, stay?"

Alec nods weakly. "Yeah. Yeah. That works."


End file.
